


Werewolf Purim

by ambyr



Category: Werewolf Bar Mitzvah - Donald Glover
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Family, Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 13:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambyr/pseuds/ambyr
Summary: "Abby," Mom said, in her I-am-the-reasonable-one voice, "I know it's hard for you, being the only one who hasn't changed yet. But you will be Bat Mitzvah in another year. There's no need to rush things. And a werewolf really isn't an appropriate costume for Purim."





	Werewolf Purim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobberBaroness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/gifts).



We were driving home from my older sister's wrestling meet when my younger sister Abby announced, "I don't want to be Queen Esther for Purim this year."

"Okay," said Mom.

"You could be Vashti," my older sister Leah suggested.

Dad cleared his throat. "I'm not really sure that's appropriate at her age."

"Da-ad! Vashti was, like, a feminist _icon_."

They were just working their way up to a good row when Abby said, "I want to be a werewolf."

In the silence that followed, the sound of Dad putting his phone down in the cup holder was very loud.

"Abby," Mom said, in her I-am-the-reasonable-one voice, "I know it's hard for you, being the only one who hasn't changed yet. But you _will_ be Bat Mitzvah in another year. There's no need to rush things. And a werewolf really isn't an appropriate costume for Purim."

" _Fine_ ," Abby said, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. "Then I won't go." 

"But it's Purim," Dad protested. "Costumes! Cookies! You love it, Abby-Bee. You know you'd be sad if you missed it." He meant, I was pretty sure, that _he_ would be sad if he missed it. Dad was always the most enthusiastically costumed adult in shul; sometimes the most enthusiastically costumed _person_ , kids included.

"Leah and Rubin aren't going," Abby pointed out.

She was right. Purim was kid stuff. Besides, Purim was on the full moon, and just because I _could_ hold it in well enough not to change for a few hours didn't mean I _wanted_ to. Not when there was a whole world out there to explore with my snout and claws and ears, and I'd only had a few months to prowl through it.

"And when you're Bat Mitzvah, you can make that choice," Mom said. "But you're not there yet, sweetie."

"Then I want to be a werewolf! Not Esther, or Vashti, or, or, a stupid Hamantaschen with arms." There was a howl building in her, and part of me--the werewolf part--wanted to join her. I edged away as far as the seat belt would allow and stared out the window, trying to pretend I was stalking the woods in the highway median and not trapped here with more sisters than any teenage boy deserved.

" _I_ thought the Hamantaschen costume was cute," Dad said, under his breath.

"Cute if you're, like, _two_ ," Leah said, not so much defending Abby as reflexively disagreeing with Dad.

Mom's sigh was audible. "Rubin," she said, lifting her voice slightly, "Who was the first werewolf?"

Inwardly, I grumbled. Why drag me into this? But there was no point in pretending I didn't know the answer, not when I'd studied this stuff backward and forward for my Bar Mitzvah. "'Benjamin is the wolf,'" I quoted from Genesis. "That's why Joseph gave him five times the portion of his other brothers. Because wolves are always hungry." Okay, so I may have said the last sentence with a little extra emphasis. We were driving right past the exit for McDonald's, and werewolves _do_ eat a lot. So, as mom is always reminding me when she surveys the contents of the fridge, do teenage boys--but she didn't take the hint.

"Right," Mom said, and I could see her nodding in the rear view mirror. "We're descended from the tribe of Benjamin. And do you know who else was part of our tribe?"

I could think of lots of answers--like our neighbors, the Wolfowitzes. But I didn't think that's where mom was going. "Who?"

"Mordechai."

"Are you saying Queen Esther was a _werewolf_?" Leah demanded.

"Yep," Mom said. "So you see, Abby, even if you go as Esther--and I'm not saying you have to go as Esther--you'll still be a werewolf inside."

"Which you are anyway," Leah said. "Even if you haven't changed yet."

Abby chewed on this--visibly chewed, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. That was a habit she was going to have to break before her Bat Mitzvah if she didn't want to leave herself bleeding. "Okay," she said finally, as we turned off the highway toward home at last. "I guess I can be Esther. But I want to have fur."

"We can do some fur under your veil," Mom allowed.

"And ears. Fur _and_ ears."

Mom sighed again. "I'll consider it."

"But I did like the Hamantaschen," Dad said, wistfully

"If _you_ want to be a Hamantaschen with wolf ears," Mom said, "knock yourself out."

From his slight hum, I knew he was considering it, mom was wishing she could take back her words, and I was--maybe just a tiny, tiny bit--regretting that I wouldn't be in shul that evening after all. Purim _was_ kid stuff, and I was a wolfman now. But it wasn't every day that you got to see your dad as a werepastry.

"Take pictures," Leah said, and for once, I agreed with her.


End file.
